Treasure in the Garden: A Family Drama in Woodshire
Margaret Wilkins had just finished cleaning the house. It was time to set the table. Yesterday, she’d made a rich vegetable soup—enough to make your mouth water! Suddenly, a loud shout came from outside. She nearly dropped the ladle, her heart leaping in surprise.
“Nanny! Grandad! Come quick, I found something!” called their grandson, Oliver.
Margaret and Albert hurried into the garden.
“Grandad, look!” Oliver beamed, clutching something in his hand.
But what caught Margaret’s attention was something else.
“Oliver, when did you manage to dig up the vegetable patch?” she gasped, staring at the neatly turned soil.
“I worked hard,” Oliver said proudly. “But look what I found!”
Albert glanced at the object in his grandson’s hand and froze in disbelief.
—
Earlier that morning, Margaret had been on the phone with her daughter. After hanging up, she called to her husband.
“Albert, they’re bringing the boy over!”
Albert looked up from his laptop, where he’d been playing solitaire, and frowned.
“Which boy?”
They had three grandchildren. The eldest, William, was already twenty and had finished college. Their granddaughter, Sophie, had just left school and was preparing to study psychology at university. Her parents couldn’t stop praising her—ambitious, always buried in her books. She definitely wasn’t the one being sent over.
“Honestly, Albert, don’t act daft!” Margaret huffed. “Who’s the lazy one in the bunch? We raised the older two right, back when we had the energy. But young Oliver—he’s a right handful! Finished Year Six with three C’s, shameful! And here you are playing cards—what sort of grandad are you?”
“What can I do? Every man’s the architect of his own fortune!” Albert grumbled, quoting his favourite saying.
“That may be, but not entirely. We’ll see what sort of fortune he makes when he gets here!” Margaret said firmly.
“You shouldn’t have agreed,” Albert muttered. “Spoilt, that one. Never listens. Youngest child, they coddled him. What’s he going to do here? Stare at his phone while you cook for him? Boys that age eat like horses!”
With a sigh, Albert closed his laptop.
“Might as well go dig your vegetable patch, then.”
“Oh, don’t start on the vegetable patch!” Margaret laughed. “Three measly rows for herbs and carrots. And why are they *my* vegetables? He’s our grandson, and he’s *our* responsibility!”
“I haven’t forgotten!” Albert scowled. “But you’ve forgotten what *you* were like at his age. His own parents can’t handle him, let alone us!”
“They’ve taken his phone, by the way,” Margaret added.
“That’s just brilliant!” Albert groaned and stomped outside.
Margaret started preparing lunch. Suddenly, the front door banged open—Albert was back.
“Done already?” she asked, pushing chopped vegetables into the simmering chicken broth.
“It’s pouring out there, Margaret! Have a look out the window!” Albert was clearly pleased. His back ached, and digging in the rain was the last thing he wanted. “We’ll just buy everything from the shop.”
“Like your mother used to say: *A little rain helps the lazy man*,” Margaret smiled.
“Who’s lazy?” Albert grumbled. “Calling *me* lazy now? You’re something else, Margaret!”
“Oh, stop moaning. Fetch the spare blanket and pillow from the cupboard—Oliver will be here soon!”
“Should’ve stayed home with his parents,” Albert muttered all evening. “Peace and quiet’s over—dragging us into this at our age! We’ve done our time!”
The next morning, a car pulled up outside their house in Woodshire. Oliver stepped out—sulky, arms folded. Still, he managed a brief smile for his grandparents before scowling again.
“What am I even supposed to *do* here?”
“Exactly, nothing to do here—I agree,” Albert muttered under his breath.
Oliver heard him.
“You’re not happy to see me, Grandad?”
“Happy? Look at you, face like a wet weekend. Nothing but trouble!”
“Mum, did you hear what Grandad just said?” Oliver turned, but his mother, Claire, cut him off.
“Dad, Mum, don’t mind him—he always grumbles at this age. Anyway, I’ve got to go. I’ll pick Oliver up later—we’ll catch up then. Mum, here’s his mobile, in case he’s unbearable—just give it to him. And don’t worry, you have to tell him things a hundred times. Kids these days are all the same,” Claire whispered before driving off.
“Nobody wants us!” Albert grumbled. “Dumped the lad and dashed off.”
“They’re always too busy,” Oliver sighed, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and trudging inside.
“Albert, maybe *today* you’ll dig the vegetable patch?” Margaret asked. “Otherwise, I won’t get anything planted.”
“Margaret, drop it! My back’s killing me—you want me laid up? You won’t find another treasure out there. Ask the boy—he’s young, full of energy!” Albert griped.
“What treasure, Grandad?” Oliver immediately poked his head out of the room.
“See, and they say you don’t listen!” Margaret chuckled. “Grandad once dug up an old trinket box in the garden.”
“What was inside?”
“Curious, are you? I’ll show you later.”
“Nanny, where’s the patch? Might as well dig—nothing better to do,” Oliver suddenly offered.
“Spade’s in the shed. Three rows behind the house—take your pick,” Margaret replied.
Oliver disappeared in a flash.
“Gone treasure-hunting,” Margaret smirked. “Should we plant something for him to find?”
“Got nothing better to do! He’ll take two swings and give up—lazy, just like I said!” Albert waved her off.
“Pot calling the kettle black,” Margaret rolled her eyes.
Oliver toiled in the garden for over an hour. Stung by the “lazy” label, Albert busied himself tidying the shed. Margaret cleaned the house and started on lunch. Yesterday’s soup smelled delicious.
Then Claire called.
“Mum, forgot to say—Oliver’s turned *so* fussy. Won’t touch soup, lives on pizza and sandwiches. I brought groceries—just feed him whatever, don’t fuss!”
“*You* don’t fuss, Claire. We’ll manage while he’s here,” Margaret reassured her.
Just as she hung up, Oliver’s voice rang out from the garden.
“Nanny! Grandad! I found something—come quick!”
“Did Albert actually plant something?” Margaret wondered. But seeing Albert’s shocked face, she knew he hadn’t. They rushed outside.
“Grandad, *look*!” Oliver held something up, eyes shining.
But Margaret gasped at something else.
“Oliver, you dug up the whole patch?! Albert, look how strong he is—not just anyone could do that!”
Oliver glowed under the praise.
“Tried my best, Nanny—Grandad’s back hurts. But *look* what I found! It’s practically treasure!”
Albert stared.
“Hang on—that’s my *wallet*! Lost it last year!” he exclaimed. “Well, Oliver, what a lad! Dug the garden *and* found my missing wallet! All because of your nanny—send me shopping one minute, digging the next. Next thing I know, *poof*—wallet’s gone, half my pension in it! You’re a marvel, son!”
At lunch, to everyone’s surprise, Oliver devoured the soup and even asked for seconds. Hard work builds an appetite! Later, he and Albert sorted tools in the shed.
“That little box—that’s what we found years ago,” Albert showed Oliver. “Old coins and letters inside.”
“Wow, Grandad!” Oliver’s eyes shone with admiration.
Together, they tidied the shed. They even uncovered William’s old bicycle—still in good nick, just needed air in the tyres. And when the neighbours’ grandson, Harry—Oliver’s childhood friend—came to visit, life got even busier. Now they couldn’t drag Oliver indoors unless it was to help with something.
Turns out, Oliver *loved* helping—and praise spurred him on.
“Mum and Dad never have time—they just brush me off. But it’s *brilliant* here! Can I stay longer?” he asked when it was time to leave.
“Of course!” Albert boomed. “With a grandson like you, my back doesn’t even ache! Who called *him* lazy? Fine lad—reminds me of myself!”
When Claire came to collect Oliver, she was stunned.
“Mum, he’s grown up *so* much! What did you *do* to him?”
“Nothing special,” Margaret said”Just gave him a bit of time and attention—that’s all any boy really needs.”
